


Celibacy

by be_a_rebel



Category: History Boys - Bennett
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-05
Updated: 2010-06-05
Packaged: 2017-10-09 22:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/92177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/be_a_rebel/pseuds/be_a_rebel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a snicker from outside. He knows that snicker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Celibacy

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I don't own the History Boys. I really wish I did.

There's bitterness, sweet and sharp. There's something to be said for luxuriating in unrequited love, of swallowing poetry (which was probably written by boys and men like him for boys and men like Dakin, with their razor sharp smiles and rolled up sleeves which had no right to look…….well, like that), of lounging on armchairs and getting fucking drunk on Dad's beer.

Well, one beer anyway.

It makes him pleasantly drowsy. (Shut up.) He tosses his leg out and catches brick on his toe and curses loudly, falling off.

There's a snicker from outside. He knows that snicker.

Scripps is bent over, not for him, which would be nice (he thinks) but in laughter. He groans miserably and goes to open the front door. Scripps stumbles in through the door, still rocking with laughter. He ignores the curse tossed at him and passes through the door to the venue of Posner's shame. Fiddles with the mouth of the bottle. Sits in the armchair Posner just left. And not of his own volition.

He waits, and waits. Scripps is looking down, knees pressing together and moving apart, restless. He realizes suddenly that he's being reminded of an over eager puppy he'd once seen, bounding up and down the street, scaring an old woman so much that her grocery bags went flying, lettuce and milk all over the street.

Fucking Sheffield.

He sits on the carpet, staring into the fire, words and images and everything else Hector's given them fluttering through his mind, across his eyelids and back again.

"This celibacy thing is much harder than I thought it would be."

He looks up and Scripps is not looking at him, not looking at anything in particular, leaning his head against the back of the chair.

"Well, as a Jewish monk, I sympathise."

"Yes but," Hand gesture, frustration? "You can still, do things."

"You're eloquent tonight."

He laughs and that odd, almost frightening look goes out of his eyes. He picks up the bottle, thumb over the tip and looks at him, at him and he's Fucking Posner. And that was his fucking mouth on that bottle and Christ (who isn't really part of his heritage, and who won't save him even if he could) if Scripps drinks from it, he's going to fucking die.

There's a half smile and fuck if Scripps isn't just as dangerous, just as lethal as Dakin. He looks away, into the fire and tries to breathe because no way, not Scripps.

He hears the bottle hit the table and doesn't know, doesn't know, doesn't know if Scripps just tasted him or if he's just losing his mind, too homosexual and too in love with his brilliant friends with their stupid half grins.

He really is fucked.

He hears Scripps get to his feet and turns around and it's back to the old Scripps again, good old Scripps.

He turns up his collar and leaves. The door falls shut quietly, because Scripps is a polite boy, gentleman with efficient manners.

He looks at the bottle for quite a while.

Never figures out if there was less in it then when he put it down.

He thinks that might be for the best. He thinks.


End file.
